


forever the name on my lips

by lavenderandpeach



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Jealousy, Light Smut, M/M, Mutual Pining, Panic Attacks, Sad Ending, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 05:34:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29978139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavenderandpeach/pseuds/lavenderandpeach
Summary: “George,” Dream said, hushed, as if it was a secret. As if George was his, only his, had only ever been his.“You’re getting married.”
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 61





	forever the name on my lips

**Author's Note:**

> title from 'last kiss' by taylor swift

Best man. It was so stupid. George had been replaying those words in his head since the question came out of Dream’s mouth. 

Best man. Best friend. That’s what he said. 

“You’re my best friend, George. Will you do this for me?” 

George thought back to all the times he had been there, doing things for Dream. All the times he had been on his knees and in his arms. All the times Dream had made him feel like forever was something he deserved and not just something he crushed under the hope of. 

He wondered if Dream had her the same way, on her back, splayed out under the midnight haze, so he could watch everything he made her feel, so he could hear the way she bared her soul to him.

It made George sick, thinking about it. Thinking about how, in less than twelve hours, he would be standing behind Dream in a church, a real one, watching him give himself to someone else. His palms were sweaty with the feeling of helplessness that washed over him. Knowing that he couldn’t say no, could never say no, would never say no, no matter how many times Dream had hurt him.

He didn’t expect it. Of course he didn’t expect it. He was here, alone, brooding and silent and broken. George could barely make out the time, the neon green glow of the digital alarm clock faded to a dull gray. 1:58. Nobody should be knocking on his hotel room door at 1:58. 

His knees threatened to give out from how long he had been sitting cross-legged on the cold bathroom floor. He gripped the counter to steady himself and flushed the toilet before making his way across his room and to the door. 

He almost didn’t open it. He knew who it was, who it had to be, and he wasn’t sure he would survive the night once he saw him standing there, tall and glowing and not his. 

Couldn’t say no, could never say no, would never say no.

“Hi,” Dream said as soon as the door was propped open. He stood still, silent for a minute, observing the way George drew in a sharp breath and seemed to coil away. “You look like shit.”

George scoffed. Of course, that was such a Dream thing to say. He was good at that, saying things that came across as caring, as loving, while keeping all of his true emotions as close to his chest as he could. 

He didn’t need to say anything. It was natural, the way George moved away from the doorframe and let Dream slide past him. They had danced this dance before. In so many words, in so many cities, in so many timelines. It was always the same. 

“You shouldn’t have come.” 

That was different. George saw the way Dream’s eyebrow quirked up as he sat down on the gray plush couch beside the window. The lights of the city crept over his cheekbones, chiseling them out, and settled in his hair. He looked like a Greek god, a son of Aphrodite, maybe. 

“Do you not want me here?”

This was a trick George knew well. He let himself lean against the dresser, relaxing his shoulders as much as he could, and crossed his arms over his chest. Dream wanted him to cross that line that they walked so carefully, wanted George to fling himself over it so that he wouldn’t have to.

“You’re getting married, Clay. I have your fucking wedding ring in my book bag.” Dream glanced to the bag hanging on the back of the door, a heaviness settling over the room at the implications it brought. “It doesn’t matter if I want you here or not.”

“Of course it matters,” Dream said, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. “You’re my best friend.”

Best man. Best friend. 

“Do you want me to go?”

Couldn’t say no, could never say no, would never say no.

“No,” George whispered, the night leaning in with him. “Of course I don’t.”

Silence. That’s what they were good at, what they had always been good at. Phones pressed to cheeks, listening to each other breathe. Hands over mouths and lips between teeth. Slow, steady heartbeats. 

It was so much for so long. George was about to give up, to give in, to admit that it was too much, when Dream lifted his head up to look him in the eye.

“Do you remember the first time I called you when I was having a panic attack?”

It caught George off guard. They had never talked about it. For the amount of times George had picked up the phone while Dream’s heart was racing and lungs were collapsing, it wasn’t something they acknowledged. It was always just there.

That wasn’t to say that he didn’t remember. He remembered exactly.

He was nineteen, home from college for Christmas break. It been a few days since he had been online, vowing to watch all of his sister’s new dance routines and listen to all of his brother’s debate speeches. His family was gathered around the furnace, the TV set to some generic holiday special, hot chocolate and peppermint lacing a sweet haze around the room, when his phone rang. 

George picked up on the third ring. He remembered, because that’s how long it had taken him to bounce up from the couch and skip the few stairs up to his room.

He felt helpless. Dream was sixteen, and he was hurting, and he could barely breathe. George could hear the scuffle of knees against hardwood and nails against drywall. He remembered the way his brain desperately grasped for something, anything to make it better.

He couldn’t. 

It was an hour. One hour until Dream’s breathing evened out and he could swallow again. One hour before he was whispering a quiet ‘thank you’ and hanging up the phone.

“Of course I remember,” George said, his voice suddenly not feeling like his own. 

He didn’t like this. This teeter totter, this wavering on the edge of an abyss he couldn’t see into. 

“You’re the only person I’ve ever called. You’re the only person that knows.”

His breath hitched.

“Not even-“

“Just you. Only you.”

Dream was holding him, then, over that cliff. He could push them both over the edge if he wanted to. He had that control, craved that control. It had been his since the day George met him.

“Clay, I don’t-“ George cut himself off, trying to slow his mind that was running faster than he could handle. “You keep taking so much.”

It was silent again, save for the sound of Dream’s sneakers against the wooden floor as he stood up and made his way to George, his hands resting on his arms that were still crossed and his gaze threatening to push, to shove, to kill.

“I’ll only take what you give me.”

The night sped up, then. It was a flurry of fingers fiddling with zippers and teeth clashing with skin and moonlight pouring through the windows, drowning them. This was the easy part. This was when George could give and Dream could take and both of them could pretend it was okay, that it would always be okay. When the rest of the world ceased to exist, and all George could do was let himself melt under the heat of every single possibility that Dream made him believe in. 

Both of them would let themselves fall, here. Dream would pretend he hadn’t thought of this every time he was away, with someone else, in someone else’s arms, and George would pretend that he didn’t hear the hushed declarations that Dream etched into his skin. 

It was okay. It would always be okay. 

“Please,” Dream whispered, eyes glazed over and arms propped on either side of George’s head. “Give me a reason.”

George knew, then, why Dream was here. He knew why he was so desperate, so urgent, so greedy. 

He knew, but he couldn’t.

“It’s okay,” he offered instead. “You can let go.”

Dream shook his head and rested his cheek against George’s.

“I can’t. Please, George.” He groaned and snapped his hips up. “Give me a reason not to marry her.”

It made George’s heart clench and ribs crack and it knocked the breath out of him, hearing Dream’s voice saying the words he had longed to hear for so long.

There was something to be said about all the ways he would let Dream hurt him. All the sick and twisted ways he would get him to stay if he could. All the hits he would take and the bones he would mend and the love he would give to make Dream want him back the way he craved. 

But George knew, then, from the way Dream was shaking and the way his eyes were clenched shut. He knew from the way his fingers tangled in his hair and the way his breath danced across his cheekbone. 

He knew that Dream could never love him the way he needed him to, the way he had been begging him to for so long.

“It’s okay, Clay,” he said, pressing his palms to his shoulders. “It’s okay.”

George felt the way Dream stilled and sighed, and the way he let himself fall, and the way his arms wrapped around his waist and pulled him to the side when it was over. He felt empty, missing a part of a Dream that was never his to begin with.

“I’m yours, George.”

It was his eyes, then, that almost made it worth it. The way the greens danced out and the browns twisted around. The way they softened when they looked at him, dark and heavy with lust that George could just as easily mistake for love.

Couldn’t say no, could never say no, would never say no.

Almost. 

“You know I can’t give you what you’re asking.”

His arms loosened, so slightly that George almost didn’t notice. But he did, and another piece of his heart broke.

“George,” Dream said, hushed, as if it was a secret. As if George was his, only his, had only ever been his.

“You’re getting married.”

The way George remembered the first phone call, and the first hug, and the first kiss, that was the way he would remember this. The hurt in Dream’s eyes when he pulled away, and the silence that was heavy in a way it never had been as Dream got dressed. The way Dream lingered, his hand wrapped around the cold metal door handle, for a second longer than he needed to would fall into a bitter haze into George’s memory, a storm threatening to overpour even his brightest days. The sound of a door closing, and the warmth of the sunrise, and the white lace and deep piano music kept his heart in a chokehold.

A vow, a ring, a kiss. 

Best man. Best friend.

It was okay. It would always be okay. 

That’s what George told himself as he watched the man he had loved for too long walk into a haze of fog, hand intertwined with someone else’s, so he couldn’t focus on the part of him that had been left to balance on that cliff alone.


End file.
